Prelude to the Kiss
by mollywins
Summary: The novel from Char's perspective.. will be completed.. hoping to have many twists and turns the original masterpiece did not.. give it a try, and tell me what you think!
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer**_ **I do not own any characters, places, or events** that have been used to my artistic endeavors from the novel, Ella Enchanted. I am simply having fun with some characters I consider my old friends.

Though regarded highly and looked upon with jealousy and adoration alike, I found few to be fools for I rather liked the humanity in which I struggled to find my way. As a child I knew no one, other than my beloved siblings, with whom I could share anything and everything that happened to cross my mind. Most other children treated me with the utmost courtesy; I was known as nothing other than "Your Highness" or "Sire" or "Prince Charmont" if the speaker was feeling particularly daring. But real pleasure I saved for the dull and tedious hours I spent with my siblings, who kept me grounded and always amused.

My home was lavish, to say the least. Light flooded every inch of floor and wall and occupant. The towering ceilings, white and menacing, complemented the white walls that were covered from top to bottom with tapestries of ancient fights and battles; though just as many love stories hung as the war ones. Beautiful damsels and dashing princes, brave horsemen and poor farm maids, I seemed to learn my chivalrous nature from the countless hours I spent studying these "books" that remained under constant scrutiny by each of the hall's occupant, namely me, however there were plenty of times I found myself explaining the meaning behind the pictures to visiting royalty or heads of state.

All the other rooms were typical: beautiful, grand, and expensive. I rarely took time to notice the surroundings in which I lived, except, of course, the tapestries that taught me so well and a feature of the house I found the most enchanting.

I was not allowed on the banister until I was ten years of age. My parents found the height and sleekness of the wood threatening to my health. All I saw was pure freedom. My nanny was instructed to hold my hand every time we approached the staircase; a maid was later made to sit and guard the banister from my use during the hours I was roaming the house freely, or else every moment I was conscious.

By the time I was eight, my inhibition to obey my parents gave way, and I would awake sharply at midnight each night to take a ride my elders so adamantly kept from me. By the time I was ten, the banister still proved enjoyment (as it does to this day) however my parents were surprised to find me little enthused by my birthday gift down the stairwell.

Otherwise, I found little enjoyment inside the grand place where I claimed residency. The gardens were spectacular, especially the menagerie that housed birds and creatures of every land and species. I was a regular to say the least.

But who made my home most special were my afore-mentioned siblings; to them, I owe so much. My entire childhood would have driven me mad had it not been for our antics in the knolls and fields or our common hours spent locked in lessons on etiquette and the like.

Apologies, I have forgotten my manners. I must seem like an insensitive, naïve, and unappreciative little boy. My childhood was not at all bad; my entire life was blessed! By no means was my youth plagued with poverty or carelessness or despair. On the contrary, I lived my life with utter happiness, in each moment for that moment's worth, never looking to gain something other than an occasional lesson or satisfaction for a moment well spent.

For as long as my memory could carry me, I knew for certainty two things only: family is worth more than gold, and someday I would be the ruler of the fine land of Frell. The former gave me much hope, while the latter often left me in a haze of sweat and fear to which nothing could cause me confidence.

Except one thing. One person I loved at first sight, one adventure after another, one centaur, one apple, one of everything I knew became as if new to me. She was why I came to do everything, to breathe in and out, to live with the utmost care. I saw her in every story, in every piece of God made tree and bush and flower, in everything the world put before me. Most importantly, I saw her in my future forever. I knew this about her after the first time I laid my eyes on her sad figure resting in the grass, hopeless and seemingly friendless, distraught betwixt the leaves of a certain weeping willow where this story is first set. She is the sole reason I write so vehemently right now. She is the reason behind everything I do. Her story and my story are one in the same, save a few minor details. What must inevitably change, however, are our voices. This is my voice, our story. The place is a graveyard. The time, when I first began to live.

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_- This chapter was kind of short, and I'm sorry for that. This is my first time writing. Could you tell me what you think?! Be honest!_


	2. The Beetle Wrought Road

_**Disclaimer**_ **I do not own any characters, places, or events** that have been used to my artistic endeavors from the novel, Ella Enchanted. I am simply having fun with some characters I consider my old friends.

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Beetles dotted the dirty path through tombstones and aged trees as I made my procession going no where, except away. Inside, I was sure my presence was missed not for my quality conversation or expertise, but because of who I was born to, into which family I claimed inheritance.

_My God, if I ever have to kiss another filthy, fat hand of some rich heiress, or else some wife of a rich heir, I will take off all my clothes and run through the pond of each fine, rich castle or palace in nothing but my birthday suit, screaming bloody murder to all those pretentious, pompous people whom I don't know, yet whom I loathe. And then, I would take all their cream puffs worth ten KJs a piece and throw them in the pond with me. Ha! That would be glorious; it would size in comparison to the actual expectations placed on me. Damn etiquette. Damn façade. Damn, damn, damn. _

I stopped. _Where am I going?_ I turned back to where I had come from. _I don't want to cry with four hundred eyes upon me any longer._ I took several steps toward the leering tower of the palace that must have, at one time, belonged to my family. Five spiky, high-rise towers framed the castle with a grand and ominous beauty employed by most architects of the Gothic era. A moat surrounded the place, and only a bridge allowed visitors to enter or exit.

But the bridge was decaying; moss and fungi and termites ate away the support at each end. At some time in the very near future, the palace would be unattainable via foot; one would have to grow wings or gills to reach it. _I would like it that way. I would like to live in a castle with a moat but no bridge. I mean to say, realistically, it is the perfect place for recluse, for privacy. Who needs hordes of servants and subjects? Not I. I and maybe one other, another I love. That is the home I plan to create. I would still be able to do my duties as crowned prince or king or what not. But then at least I could be left alone for a while. That is how I would choose to live. Though I doubt it matters much what I want._

Now sullen and slightly downcast, I could not return to the castle I longed to claim as my home; the funeral for a most beloved friend would do little to lighten my weary heart. I would miss her dearly, think of her very often, and kick myself that I could do nothing for her; she who did so much to make boring, royal dinners exciting, who was not like the others and who never tried to be, I would miss her green eyes and light skin and humor and her smile. I would never forget her. Never.

I continued down the beetle-wrought road, mindless and unaware of the actual beauty of my surroundings. Autumn in Frell was the most glorious seasonal sensations.

What I loved most was the smell; the soft, light, breezy west wind swept every magnificent odor from Bast and Ayortha and every city and village and home along the way and seemed to sprinkle Fell with an aroma of homemade goods and cinnamon and vanilla. Each Frellan household made traditional pumpkin bread as the children sucked on spice sticks.

The leaves died an orange and red and yellow, and yet not one was able to fall to the ground. The sun was rarely seen behind thick, looming clouds that blanketed the sky with a majesty and omnipresence that made walks through the park the best thing to do.

However, there was one tree that, all year round, did not inherit the orange tint to its mane of leaves. Each palace, as a ritual custom of Kyrria's royalty, contained one major weeping willow on its premises. Symbol of each Kyrrian's ability to take the "good with the bad" and cry when appropriate, the weeping willow was the one tree that seemed to be outcast among the rest. It stood lonely, bearing thin green leaves that hung low toward the ground as if ashamed by its inability to do as the others do. Its thick, rough trunk was nearly hidden by its branches that fell like hands covering a forlorn face. The weeping willow was the most honorable and beautiful part of every palace in Frell.

_If I cannot force myself back into that dreadful reception room inside the palace, then I should find someplace out here. Not that mourning should take place somewhere dreadful! But Eleanor was a special lady; she deserves the utmost courtesy. Yes, I think that's right. Now I sound like my father, God help me._

I reached the entrance to the greenest and oldest graveyard in Frell; every tomb was saved for someone of great importance, royalty, or the richest man in Frell. Of course, my family filled all three categories, so as I slowly tip-toed through the holy land, I could occasionally see names I knew. A distant cousin, a great uncle, another cousin, _dear Lord even a dog_. Each gravestone looked identical to the ones next to, in front of, and behind it, except of course the name was different as were the dates of birth and death.

_Will I be buried here too? How terrible! I would hate to rest here in my death! And I would hate for my distant descendants to know of me only from a generic tombstone they had seen just as I have today, during a funeral, taking a casual stroll over their decaying bodies. What am I doing?! I am walking on the holy ground of my dead relatives. Great. Char, this is truly inspired._

Rather quickly, I made my way to the edge of the graveyard. Able again to walk flat-footed, I stood in front of the grave of a cousin I knew, though not very well. _What do I do now?_

To my right, I heard a muffled sound, like a dove cooing from behind a door or as if held tight, mouth covered with a blanket. I turned slowly, unsure as to what I might find. What first hit my eye was the weeping willow of the palace. It was one of the grandest trees I had ever beheld. Dashingly large and overwhelmingly wide, it would not fit inside the largest ballroom of Frell. There was something at the base of the tree, something dressed in black, fitfully positioned. I could then distinguish the muffled cooing to be passionate sobs emanating from this black something beneath the weeping willow.

I recognized her. She looked nearly uncanny to the late Lady Eleanor. They had identical eyes and figures and movements. The mouth might not have been hers, nor the ears; but the spirit was all Eleanor.

I know that I had seen her, maybe even met her once. _No. I would definitely remember such a beautiful girl._

No. It was through Elsa, the cook at the palace. Every once in a while, when I was feeling particularly bored or curious, I would venture down to the kitchens. Though the kitchens were out of the way by five staircases, two hallways and one ramp, I found it often refreshing to spend some time with the cooks.

Chickens and pigs would line the walls; fish and beef filled the ice chests. The kitchens would always smell of something, usually pleasant, but you would occasionally find the scent of an old glass of milk or of a hidden decaying pig meet your nose.

But I loved the kitchens. There was always life and happiness and laughter because the cooks insisted on tasting their creations each step of the process. When their stomachs were full, the cooks radiated a good sense about them, and so the joviality wafted throughout the house.

Jolly and happy and kind, Elsa was the nicest of them all. She was in her early sixties though she held evidence of her growing age for thirty years. She was plump, though not fat. Her dimples left deep impressions on her face, so that even when she wasn't smiling, they were still visible. Her dirty apron had stains from every food imaginable. You could tell which foods she worked with each day, because they were the brightest of the colors. What I like most about Elsa was that she involved me with whatever she just so happened to be working on at the time.

"Try this, dear. Now tell me, does it have too much salt, or too little?"

However trivial or insignificant her tasks or questions might have been, I greeted them with enthusiasm, and she always returned with gratitude. _Though it should have been me to thank her._ She was one of the very, very few people to treat me as a normal child. She was never overly polite or accommodating; she would make sure I was given some attention and one task, and then let me be with it, though she was sure to answer my questions thoroughly.

And often, I would bother her with requests.

"Elsa, can you tell me a story? Please!"

"Now, sire, you know that I am not one for fairy tales." She would chuckle with her thick Ayorthian accent. "I know very few, but the ones I do know I learned from a **real** fairy."

"You've met a real fairy! How? When? What was she like? I bet she was beautiful, with wings and a wand. Did she give you any wishes?"

"She was a fairy, not a genie, silly! And she was beautiful, but you would never know that she was a fairy; she had no wings or wand or fairy dust. She looked like a regular person. Like you or me. But she was most charming."

"Then how did you know she was a fairy? She could have been lying. Did she do magic for you? What kind of magic can fairies do? Where can you find fairies? Do they live here in Frell?"

"Oh my! So many questions. Let me see." Even as she ladled a pungent smelling soup into serving bowls and mixed spices for a fresh apple pie, Elsa always managed to answer every part of my question. "I knew she was a fairy, because she told me she was. I know her rather well, and she entrusted me with her secret. It also helps that I'm a Friend of the Fairies, meaning my family lineage contains fairy blood. Fairies only do little magic; they are much too sensible to do big magic! Although there are still a devious few who wouldn't hesitate in turning you into a squirrel! You can find fairies anywhere; and yes, I'm sure there are plenty in Frell."

"You are part fairy?! Show me. Disappear or something. Can you live forever?" I was enthralled.

Elsa smiled, though continued stirring her work for the day. "Sweet, I can't do magic or live forever or anything. It's just a drop of fairy blood. It simply shows in my feet. Notice how they haven't grown since I was a child? Fairies have the same feet. Just as small."

"I want to meet a fairy." I thought for a moment, and resolutely declared, "Someday, Elsa, I'm going to marry a fairy."

She laughed heartily. "Oh, you are! Well then one blessed fairy she will be, my dear lass. Very blessed."

As I was thinking about the fairy, soon to be my wife, Elsa broke in with her usual sage words: "Dear, I hope you know that you don't have to marry any _type_ of person. She doesn't have to be a fairy or a princess or anything. She might be a farm girl or a maid or even a cook. All she has to be is a girl you love. That would be good enough. As long as you're happy, that's what marriage is, and that's all that matters."

I smiled gratefully, digesting her soft words that rang of veracity in my head. _Maybe I didn't even want a princess or a fairy._ The princesses I had met were nothing I cared for, and the fairies seemed too much of a hidden race. _Maybe I didn't need royalty and elegance_. _Maybe Elsa's right._

I soon came to my senses. "Elsa, you haven't told me the fairy tale. If it's from a real fairy, it must be good!"

"Now, I wouldn't dare repeat an actual fairy's tale. I would do it no justice at all! And besides, as a prince of Fell, I think you should hear about what is really and truthfully going on in your country and with your people, don't you, sire?"

"I always tell you to call me Char. You can call my father 'sire,' but not me. And if you insist, but I hope it's a good one." I would try to give her the most menacing face I could muster, but she would simply smile at my every attempt.

"Alright, my little monster, I promise you will like this girl I am about to tell you about. Her name is Ella, and she lives right here in Frell.."

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Sorry for the cliff hanger.. I'm not going to go on with Elsa's story. I'll leave that for you to decide. But I am going to continue with the meeting of Char and Ella in the graveyard. It's just too late tonight, and I want to her what you guys think before I go on! Thanks!

Oh, and I know in the book Mandy says that Ella is the last Friend of the Fairies in Kyrria, but Elsa is from Ayortha. So there you go, for all you picky picky readers! 


	3. Speak

_**Disclaimer**_ **I do not own any characters, places, or events** that have been used to my artistic endeavors from the novel, Ella Enchanted. I am simply having fun with some characters I consider my old friends.

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I snapped back. _How do I approach her?_ I thought of possible introductions, all of which were lame and insincere. I thought it best to let her calm down a bit, to stop crying before we held any form of conversation.

I turned back to the grave beside me. My stupid cousin. He died at the age of twenty-three; he allowed the ogres at the palace menagerie to lure him into their cage. Only bones were ever found left of him. Since then guards were stationed at every corner surrounding the ogres and nearly every other possibly deadly creature at the place.

_I wish she would stop crying. How selfish of me. Of course she's upset. Her mother whom everyone loved, including me, has died. I should probably join her beneath the willow's leaves. No. That would not be proper. I don't even know her._

As if she read my mind, I saw her, from the corner of my eye, raise her head. The entire front of her dress no longer appeared black; instead, it shone a sooty brown from the dirt and leaves that lay scattered upon the ground where she sat.

I finally looked her over fully. Hair askance and eyes a swollen and discolored red from the amount of crying done, she had a nose that seemed to be a water fountain; her sniffling resounded throughout the wood as a pathetic, hard-to-stop type of snivel. The laces of her shoes were untied, and they wrapped around her ankles, which were bleeding, probably from tripping on her run out of the palace, or else because she had become so violent in her attempt to smother her crying beneath the tree. As she looked toward me, I saw that her eyes had sunken; a forlorn shadow of grief was cast over her medium frame, and her mouth, though small, spoke worlds to the extent to which she would now never be the same. Any way you looked at her, you could find at least three visible, exterior flaws.

But she took my breath away. Her body told an intelligible story of resilience and strength and audacity I found very appealing. Her jaw and cheeks were well defined and her body was a slender, athletic type; she looked healthy and able and I wanted to hold her hand. Her dirty attire and unlaced shoes I found refreshing; I liked seeing normal people as they would be and act when not in the presence of "such great royalty" or "someone of high importance."

I liked this girl from the moment I saw her, because she was real as could be seen from her dirt-covered dress and swollen eyes. And when she glanced back at me, I saw sorrow and despair and no apologies for the way she looked or acted. She atoned for nothing; she simply was.

I had to stop studying her, or she might find me judgmental and cold. I had to speak. I watched her move to stand up; I choked on my tongue, unable to coin a phrase for the life of me. I kept seeing her dirty clothes and unkempt hair, and I desperately wanted to smile, _but that would be inappropriate_. _And she would think I was laughing at her at her mother's funeral; then I'd be a real buffoon_.

I grew nervous watching her, hoping she wasn't judging _me_. I had to speak. But what was there to say to someone who intimidated me? _Get a grip, Char, you've had dinner at some of the most important homes in the world; you've dined with heads of states, top generals, princes and kings. You, yourself, are a prince, for heaven's sake. You can manage to speak to a merchant's daughter._

I had to speak, or else I would smile at her carelessness in the presence of a prince. _Speak_. I looked back at the gravestone in front of me.

"Cousin of mine," I said as I gestured pathetically at the tombstone. "Never liked him" _He was an idiot._ "I liked your mother." _She had substance; I hope her daughter fares just as well as her mother._

Unsure how to continue, we walked beside each other for a little ways. When I say "beside" I mean parallel, because we were far enough away to fit at least five horses between us. _I want to be closer to her. She's pretty. I bet she smells nice._ I began to inch my way towards the dirty daughter of the woman I adored.

She walked with quick strides; her hurried feet could hardly be seen as solid figures for they appeared as if intangible. Though her feet looked like they were moving fast, they weren't. I stayed in perfect time with her as I led a leisurely stroll.

_Don't say anything stupid. Don't say anything _stupid_. This is a very rare occasion, finding a girl you don't mind for a change. She's not even royalty! Refreshing. Just don't say anything stupid. I bet she already thinks I'm some conceited prince who likes to look at his own reflection all day. Yeah, I bet she thinks I'm one of those princes who makes his servants call him "Oh Great One" or "Your Highest Majesty" or something crazy like that. I hope she doesn't call me that._

"You can call me Char" I blurted suddenly. "Everyone else does."

_At least now she won't ever call me "Your Highness." _

I could think of little else to say, so a long silence ensued. In the mass amount of time I had to think, I began to wonder if she thought I told her to call me Char because I didn't want her to think that I'm conceited, and that no one actually calls me that.

"My father calls me Char too," I added hurriedly. Now I was worried of her thinking that I was worried that she would think I was a pompous prince. _Calm down, Char. Maybe it's better not to talk._

"Thank you," she replied, unsure of how to respond to my sudden and unusual outbursts.

"Thank you, Char_." Did I really just correct her? Why am I so overly anxious? _

I decided to tell a long story on her mother to make up for my semi-rudeness. "Your mother used to make me laugh. Once, at a banquet, Chancellor Thomas was making a speech. While he talked, your mother moved her napkin around. I saw it before your father crumpled it up. She had arranged the edge in the shape of the chancellor's profile, with the mouth open and the chin stuck out. It would have looked exactly like him if he were the color of a blue napkin. I had to leave without dinner so I could go outside and laugh." _Ha, she was incredible, Lady Eleanor._

I could remember her perfectly. Everything about her was perfect in my eyes. I wanted to know her as a friend and have her as a mother. I was nearly jealous of her daughter to have known her so well.

We had been continuing back the way we came on the beetle-wrought road when a few wet drops hit our heads and shoulders and the ground around us. I looked toward the front of the castle which acted as a reception area for the horses and carriages; there were no guests, nor were there any carriages. Except for one man beside a horse and buggy that donned all black. That is, the man and the horse and the buggy wore black to signify a loss.

My companion turned to me, seemingly puzzled at her father's singular appearance. "Where did everyone go?" she posed.

"They all left before I came to find you. Did you want them to wait?" I never came to find her. If I had known she was out here, yes, I would have come to look for her certainly. But we had they same idea to begin with: alone time from the masses. But did she want to see the other mourners? Maybe I should have made them wait. That might have been the proper thing to do. Could I make them come back?

But as I studied her more carefully, a look of relief was firmly situated across her face; she didn't mind that the guests had left. It might have even pleased her.

"No, I didn't want any of them to wait." I sighed, and noticed that she looked most vehemently at her father as she said this.

I think I could remember Elsa telling me a story once about Ella, about how she and her mother would avoid her father because of his conniving ways. Elsa didn't take fondly to Sir Peter either, but she never said so outright. So many things I had heard about this girl walking beside me, I felt as if she had the right to know we were meeting for the first time just for her; I felt I knew her before we met in person.

"I know all about you," I confessed. She turned abruptly, shocked at my revelation.

"You do? How could you?"

"Your cook and our cook meet at the market. She talks about you." Little does Ella know that nearly everyday I received a new story from Elsa about the events in Ella's life. I daresay, I knew more about Ella than Ella knew about herself. She was intriguing; I liked hearing about the small adventures and troubles Ella would get herself into. She was exciting and real, for a change. I thought it best to be honest with her, if we ever wanted to start a relationship.

_Relationship? Who was I turning into? I don't even know what I'm having for breakfast tomorrow. How can I already be thinking about a relationship with a girl I just met?_

She was watching me as I internally struggled with what I was expecting to happen. I wondered if she was as familiar with me as I was with her. I thought it might be likely; in the most unpretentious way, I thought that maybe because I was a prince, she would be told something of me. _Anything would do._

"Do you know much about me?"

"No." At least she was honest. Perhaps a bit blunt, but other courtiers or weak girls would have made up stories or excuses to make me feel important. She thought for a moment, then added, "What do you know?"

She had put me on the spot. In the few seconds I had to think of one of the million stories Elsa had told me, I blanked. I needed to say something. I couldn't mention her cold father and her poor relationship with him. As we looked into each other's eyes, all I could see, just then, was Lady Eleanor. "I know you can imitate people just as Lady Eleanor could. Once you imitated your manservant to his face, and he wasn't sure whether he was the servant or you were. You make up your own fairy tales and you drop things and trip over things. I know you once broke a whole set of dishes." I would give her a million sets of dishes, if I could watch her break every single one of them.

"I slipped on ice!" She tried to atone for herself. I smiled at her indignation.

But I was way ahead of her. "Ice chips you spilled before you slipped on them." The image I got every time Elsa would tell this story made me laugh.

I could see her cheeks redden in embarrassment. "An accident." But my laugh grew stronger at this, and I could see her mouth curl up in smile that shook involuntarily after so much crying.

She had such a beautiful smile. And her clumsiness made her all the more attractive. "Accidents are God's way of teaching lessons. People who have more accidents are one step further to reaching perfection." I couldn't get Elsa's words out of my head. She had always said wise things like that when I was a young child. I never actually thought I listened.

We finally reached the lone man leaning against the black laced carriage. He bowed. "Thank you, Highness," I flinched, "for accompanying my daughter."

I could do little else but return his bow. "Come, Eleanor." I watched as Ella looked at me hesitantly, still radiating from our little tussle just seconds before. At the sound of her mother's name, she turned towards her father, marched up to his feet and proclaimed indignantly, "Ella. I'm Ella."

"Ella then. Come, Ella." The smug bastard was treating her like a child. I tried to give her a sympathetic look, but she wasn't looking. She was eyeing her father who bowed again at me.

As I saw her turn to continue her way up the carriage, I thought it would be most gallant to give her my hand as support. I reached out my hand; she looked at it, and let her entire arm rest in the palm of my hand. She began to slip, and I ended up pushing her up by the elbow. She seemed to have made it inside the carriage safely; I checked that both she and her father were seated securely, and I closed the door. Unfortunately, the skirt of her dress was still in harm's way. She had managed to catch her skirt just as I was closing the carriage door.

A loud ripping sound resounded through our ears. I was caught off guard for a second. I didn't know what to do or what to think. Things like this did not happen to most fine, graceful women I knew.

_She just ripped her dress. Right here, in front of a prince. Ha!_

I couldn't help but laugh. Never in my life had I met a girl like her. As I watched her horses trot off into the distance, I wondered when I would see Ella again. I hoped it was soon, but I did not want to be too forward with her. After all, she now knew I had inside connections to her life. What she must have thought of me now, I would never know.

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This chapter is very, very book conscious, I know.. I might try and spice things up a bit in the upcoming chapters.. I want to stay true to the book, but we'll see how things go. TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK.


	4. Dinner with Ogres

_**Disclaimer**_ **I do not own any characters, places, or events** that have been used to my artistic endeavors from the novel, Ella Enchanted. I am simply having fun with some characters I consider my old friends.

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_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. There are six differently shaped mirrors in the dining hall. Why would anyone want six mirrors in a room used for eating, let alone a mirror in a hexagon shape?_

I had hoped, though with low expectations, that I would arrive home from the funeral and retire to my bed chamber with a pot of hot tea and some book to keep my attention. However, much to my disappointment, a dinner had been arranged under my name.

_Such a poor attempt. Mother, father, you must have very little patience left._

I did not visit my room for fresh attire, nor did I bother to wash my face or clean my boots. I entered the stately dining hall (which had been prepared for a guest list of twenty or so Kyrrian nobles) in my rain-doused clothes that seemed to stick to every move I made; my feet squashed and squished in my boots that left wet prints every step I took and that had turned brown from my time beneath the willow. I left my hair a mop of wet mess, refusing to put my hat on, and never had I looked so unhappy to be anywhere.

To the utter horror of my parents, who always meant well and against whom I never held a grudge, I arrived at our palace three quarters of an hour late and upon horseback which was once considered "unbefitting" a prince.

I left my horse with the trainer and marched up the steep earthen stairs to the palace entrance. The one feature of the palace I left out is the one feature I both loved and hated. The palace entrance is most aesthetically appealing to the eye; mossy steps conquer the massive hill on which the place rests. The steps are long and large and there are very few in between sea level and the palace, but I was most accustomed to calling them steps because from far away, they do appear to make a lovely stair to the palace. I would sit nearly every afternoon outside, either at the base or the peak of the steps and watch nature flourish on and around it.

I came to despise the steps as, when I grew older, I yearned to venture outside the walls of my home; each step calmed my need for adventure, and by the time I reached the bottom, I no longer wanted to fight ogres or ride with knights; I wanted to go back up the steps and rest within the palace walls.

But I then learned the ways of horseback, and my appreciation for my home in its entirety returned. In this instance, I was attempting to avoid confrontation with my parents about the fact that I had taken out a horse without their permission. Of course, they learned of my treachery, as all parents somehow do, so I walked the steps for no reason other than to be reminded of my hatred for them.

The doors to the palace were surprisingly ajar; too late to question the servants' lapse in judgment I made hurried steps through the door, up the entry stairs and onto the main landing.

"Char, sweet, you are not making many friends with this behavior."

Elsa had been waiting for me at the palace entrance. With dinner already prepared, she was free to do as she liked until breakfast time the next morning, although she adored her work space and spent most of her free time in the kitchen; this was a rare and awkward appearance for her. As was custom, Elsa acted as my pseudo mother in a way a grandmother would for she was always there when I needed something, and she always knew when I had trouble afoot.

"Elsa, I've told you. I don't really care about the 'important' people in there so much as the people I meet _out there_. Weren't you always the one to teach me that?"

"Yes, yes." She looked at me, studying my features and innocent-looking face. "I do hate it when you throw my words back at me." She grinned; I knew she secretly loved the way in which she influenced my upbringing. She had always told me there were too many princes and not enough rulers. I made it my life's mission to be a hero for the people, not for the wealthy. "Alright, then. You'd best get into dinner before Countess Herring throws her fit again. I swear, that child must get her way or she would make her father go to war for her."

"And you wonder why I detest these dinners."

"Oh, I don't wonder.." Elsa muttered, as she left for the kitchens once more and as I made my dreaded walk past the tapestries, through the gold-inlaid doors, with a forced smile, and into the dining hall.

A long, mahogany table stretched the entire length of the room. Each seat, prepared for twenty guests in total, was occupied except for one, which I assumed was held for me. My mother sat at one end and my father the other; though this was custom during formal dinners, my parents hated being apart for too long, thus dinner was rarely eaten on this table. We opted to dine either in the kitchens with the cooks or else in the drawing room, away from the pomposity that the mahogany and gold-inlay smothered upon us.

I could feel each eye watching me, analyzing my every movement; the Earl of Whatsit and Count of Wherever loved to criticize me because that gave them some hope that I would fail as king and therefore get them one step further to taking the crown. _However, only seventy more people would have to fail for them to be crowned king._

I pretended to enter unaware of their stares; I marched loudly through the hall, my boots most ardently announcing their previous engagement with the rain. I greeted my mother with a soft kiss on her hand; I then made the long walk to my father, where we met each other with a bow. Finally, I was able to take my seat in the center of the table, completely exposed to the criticism of my elders and to the caprice of my own actions.

"Do tell us, Your Highness, what kept you so late this evening. We know your courtesy and feared only ogres could have kept you from us for so long." _No, I'm afraid I'm eating with the ogres._

The speaker was Sir Henry Gibton, a boy about my age, with no extraordinary talent, gifted with no charm or finesse, _and an absolute bore_. I dreaded our conversations because his one ability, it seemed, was to make the target of his talk uncomfortable and embarrassed and the ridicule for the evening. My late arrival placed the bull's-eye on my head the instant I walked through the door.

"Oh nothing of the sort, Henry. In fact, I would like to believe it was a much nobler task I was attending to. You must forgive my tardiness, but I was comforting a local maiden over the loss of her mother, a woman I also knew and adored well. She was a wonderful woman; respected in the community as well."

"Oh, indeed, sire. And who might this distraught young lady be?"

"A Miss Ella of Frell, daughter to Sir Peter and Lady Eleanor."

His smug face shone through his confused and thoughtful façade. "I don't believe I have heard of them. Respected, you said? I am not familiar with the family, and I like to believe I know the entirety of who's who in Frell."

I was not embarrassed or ashamed, though I do think many people of my rank would have been. No, I was outraged at his insolence and complete vanity. _How dare he speak so of someone he has yet to meet! How dare he speak so of Ella and Lady Eleanor!_

I did not have to say anything. A woman down the table (I could not see her face, though I wish I had so that I could send her ten dozen roses in gratitude) replied on queue, "Oh dear Henry, how can assume you know everyone 'who's who,' as you so brashly put it, when you are barely old enough to take seat in High Court meetings! No, I daresay you would probably not know Eleanor; she refused to take part in Frell's show of flamboyancy.

"No, I do believe I met the Lady Eleanor of which you speak, Master Char. I do believe I remember her very well. Quite smitten, I was. As was the whole of the party. Amazing woman. You should have been quite honored to attend her funeral. Quite honored to comfort her daughter." And though I could not see her face, I knew that if I did, she would have been smiling at me throughout; and she would have delivered this last line with a wink.

"There you go, Henry. And thank you, Ma'am. I was very much honored. I will sorely miss Lady Eleanor. And I can only hope to be as much help to Lady Ella." _Yes, I plan on learning more about her; I've heard so much already, but I feel like she is still so mysterious. Stop, Char. Now's not the time. Well, I suppose never is the time; when will I find a moment to spare? And how would I go about meeting her and spending time with her? _

_Not now. Don't think of it now. Don't think of her dirty dress and muddy feet and careless posture. Don't think of her quiet company and tear stained face and shaking smile. _

_Stop. Now. _

But Henry, once again, took me from my thoughts. He had seemingly had enough time to concoct some response. "Well, then, I'm so glad to hear that your tardiness was for a good reason. Very gallant." And with a tone of pure sarcasm, "For the next dinner, I'm sure there will be a wedding near by of another 'person greatly respected.'" Henry laughed heartily and opened his eyes, encouraging those around him to join in his merriment. Only two others found his remark amusing.

"Oh, no. I don't think so. I am a very private person by nature. I wouldn't dream of attending a wedding or funeral unless I truly felt it was in my place to attend. No, indeed." I paused, waiting for an effect. Then to add to the dramatics, "And in fact, it is in my own opinion, if I may speak frankly, that Lady Eleanor was even more respected than Duchess Aria, God may she rest in peace. High Chancellor Thomas performed the ceremony for Lady Eleanor. I do believe your brother was unable to get High Chancellor to marry him, isn't that right, Henry?"

Henry's cheeks turned bright red. "I'm actually uncertain if he every bothered to ask. Thomas is a different man; our family believes he's been a bit lost ever since his wife passed."

"Oh, well, no matter. My family, however, still has the utmost faith in his abilities." _Triumph._

"Speaking of faith." My blood turned cold, and the hair on my neck seemed to want to leave the room as fast as the rest of me did. "Prince Charmont, what is your position on the necessity of marriage to complete one's faith?" Sitting two seats to my right and on the other side of the table sat a girl one year older than me, tall, blonde, and stranger than anyone I had ever met.

She was undeniably beautiful. Her golden hair cascaded to her waist; as she pulled the sides back, her highlights seemed to shimmer and glow. Her cerulean eyes were large and ever watchful. Beneath plump, pink lips rested white teeth that needed no correction for they were straight and nearly perfect. Her body formed a type of S-curve that even the most able woman sought to attain; she knew just how to wear her bodice, for she always looked elegant and appealing without seeming undignified or beneath her rank, so to speak. She twisted her head and batted her eyelashes in an innocent, playful way that drew the attention of every man in the room. Every man, except me.

To this day, I am unsure why I could not find myself attracted to this seemingly perfect girl. She was beautiful and poised and exactly what my parents wanted, though they said nothing of the sort.

But Jane had little else, other than exterior beauty. Maybe it was because I never made the full effort to connect with her, but I always found myself eerily disturb by our conversations, or else completely uninspired. She found local gossip most appealing, and I would often find her staring into my eyes not for romance sake, but for the mere purpose of catching a glimpse of a reflection of the face she adored most, her own.

To top all, Jane wanted me. She could have had any and every man in Frell, but she managed to single me out as the object of her desire. She wanted my wealth and notoriety, no doubt; I was not bought by her charm and beauty. In fact, it was her seeming flawlessness that turned me away from her in the first place. I didn't feel like I was actually talking or sitting or eating when I was around her. I felt like I couldn't say the wrong thing. I was intimidated, I hate to say, and I didn't like it.

I lurched in my seat._ Oh God, what do you say to that? What does she mean by faith and marriage? She is too dull to find a better transition into asking me when, where and who I will marry. Generic answer. Just give her a vague, non-committal answer._

"I think that faith is whatever you want it to be. I don't think there are specific categories we must fulfill in order to be a person with faith. I think faith is there to serve _us_. Not vice versa." _There, that was a decent answer to a terrible question._

"Yes, but what of growth?"

"Yes," I looked around to see if others were as bewildered as I, "and about growth?"

"Wasn't it the great historian Tribkas who said, 'Marriage is growth of the soul; growth is confirmation of faith'?"

"Er," I was sure she had made up the historian and his coined phrase to make her point, "I never was one for quotes. I'm not sure." End of conversation. Back to dinner.

An awkward pause ensued in which everyone returned to their meal, except Jane who sat as if time had frozen, thinking about how to keep the topic alive. Apparently she could think of nothing eloquent, because she continued, "Yes, sire, but what about continuity?"

I looked up at her from behind my bowl of pea soup. Mid sip, I replied hastily, "What about it?" Most of the guests then stopped listening. All I wanted was to eat in peace. I was annoyed.

"Well, Char," I hated the way my named was forced off her tongue; it didn't roll off casually, but harshly and with too much emphasis. "Doesn't faith rely on continuation of yourself. That, by marrying and reproducing, only then can you reach immortality."

"Yes, but only a fool would wish to be immortal. I simply seek to be faithful." Jane shut her mouth sharply; she was not offended only because she was unable to process exactly what I had said.

"Charmont." My father interrupted. He gave the most upraising look her could muster before he continued for me, "We have decided, the three of us, that Char _will _marry. He has the rest of this year, and the entirety of the following year which he will spend in Ayortha, to find his bride. If he is unable to do so, we shall be forced to pick for him. Of course, we hope it will not come to that." He sent a sympathetic look my way; I averted his eyes, not wanting to accept the veracity of his words. _Could I possibly end up marrying someone I did not love? Could I be forced in wedlock? Char, prince of Kyrria, with no little choice in any matters pertaining to his life._

I looked up and found Jane smiling at me as if she could see into the future. Apparently, things were looking good for her. Our eyes locked and another chill ran through my body. I looked away and pretended to focus on my meal.

The rest of the night, I avoided any contact with Jane and my parents. After I gave my adieus to the guests, I made a beeline straight for the hallway leading to the west wing, my corner of the palace.

The lock clicked behind me as I walked dejectedly toward my bed. I paused, stared at the bronze sheets for several seconds, then threw myself on them.

_What is it about her that so wholeheartedly disgusts me? She's gorgeous. And she's well mannered. But she is dull. And humorless. What is most disconcerting is the fact that she is conniving in a way that is natural to her. She may not have the brains, but she still understands what it means to win dirty. _Something like that I refused to accept in people.

I managed to slip my damp boots off and kicked them under my bed. I stripped quickly and jumped beneath the covers. The light shone dimly over the room; it reached to every corner of the room I saw only at night. I could see my knights armor reflect the soft light. My journal was hidden behind a trick latched door just to the left of the armor. I yearned to write, but my body would not let me move from the enveloping bed.

My eyes were unfocused and tired. My head ached from my horrific encounter with marriage talk, and my mind swirled in and out of the words of both my father and Jane. The light went out; my thoughts grew fainter until, just before they swirled into the oblivion of sound slumber, a girl in muddy attire flashed before my mind; her shaking grin and faltering indignation caught me like a hiccup in my soul, and her weeping form was all I could see the rest of the night.

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I hope this chapter was somewhat interesting!! I'm thinking it might lead to something later on.. and I'm sosososo sorry it's taken me this long to update it. Hopefully I'll be writing more; but I do leave for college mid August, so the story might take a very short break then. However I do intend to complete it. Let me know if things are still looking good!


	5. Enchanted

_**Disclaimer**_ **I do not own any characters, places, or events** that have been used to my artistic endeavors from the novel, Ella Enchanted. I am simply having fun with some characters I consider my old friends.

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Morning met me with full enthusiasm. Birds were chirping, the sound of horses reached my ears, and the beams of sunshine poured through my window like the end of a rainbow reaches its pot of gold.

I left the folds of my bed to find that its comfort seemed extended to the rest of the world. I dressed hastily, nearly leaving my room wearing my left shoe on my right foot and my right shoe on my left foot. The soft wood paneling felt cool even through the fuzzy woolen stockings I wore to bed. The day was just beginning, and I was prepared to meet it as it came.

With both shoes on correctly and with, thankfully, matching socks I ran the corridors of the west wing, excited for the events of the day.

As I reached the first step, I smiled with glee. Softly, my feet rose from the ground as my bottom met the surface of the well-waxed stairwell. Of all things to love. I adored books and artwork and surely games of athletics; but there was nothing I loved more than the adrenaline rush and exhilaration I felt as I glided down to the first floor.

_No woman could match my love for stair-gliding. No enchantress or witch or even fairy could ever make me feel so invulnerable or… happy._ My naïveté at this time still astounds me.

I landed gently and continued directly into a stroll down passageways and multiple other stairs that had far less appeal than the first main stairway.

"Good morning, Elsa, Davy, Tom." My unusually cheerful voice rang through the kitchen as I scooped a roll from the pan. "Did you happen to notice the weather? Glorious, simply glorious." _Something good must happen today. I can feel it._

"Why, Master Char, it is a glorious day, thank you for noticin'." Davy sent a surprised and somewhat impressed look in Elsa's direction; I think, often, he considered me a typical haughty prince who took little time to get to know his subjects. Often I would catch a stray word he spoke to Elsa, most commonly speaking his displeasure with my constant appearance in the kitchen. "I swear, Elsa, that boy eats the food meant for the table to get us in trouble! He doesn't care about you or me. He cares for nothing. 'Tell me a story, Elsa. It had better be a good one!' I swear, you'd think you were his nanny-slave! I don't know why you encourage it."

But Elsa would stand up for my innocence in all matters, making a case that I was a "growing boy" and that Davy simply did not know me the way she did. "Davy, I know this might frustrate you, but you must trust me. Char is alright. I see him for who he really is and he's alright. You must just know that. Don't question it."

Whenever I caught Elsa's random words of faith and trust in me I glowed brightly. She was a mother to me, in essence. I soon came to find I strove equally to do her proud.

"Elsa, I'll be back for dinner tonight. You need not worry about my lunch. I plan to spend the day out."

"Out where, Char, if you don't mind me asking." A hint of motherly concern entered her voice at these words.

I grimaced. "To the menagerie."

"But Sire!" I moaned; Tom only spoke under direct orders of a member of the royal family. I prepared myself for a message from my parents.

"Your parents have requested I tell you that a tea date has been set under your name. It is to take place an hour past noon, and you are to be prepared in the quarter hour preceding it."

"Thank you, Tom." My day must indeed be ruined.

"And Sire, you are to wear your blue velvet costume on orders of the Queen." My blue velvet outfit was customarily saved for important dates where I was meant to impress a possible wife. _Oh dear God, what incompetent duchess or lady might it be this time._

"Tom, did the Queen state who would accompany me this afternoon?"

"No, Sire. Only that you were to arrive promptly, without excuse and that you must wear your blue velvet."

"Very well."

I needed to be home a quarter before one. _Very well, indeed. Mother, you are not about to thwart my morning. You have given me three hours to be spent in the menagerie; I can return after my appointment if I feel the need. Very well, then._

I made to leave but it was Elsa who stopped me. "Char, you'd better be back in time for tea." She glared her meaning most pitifully. "I know you might not like it, but you wouldn't go well to upset your mother, poor dear. She only wants the best for you."

I nodded my head and gave her my best, "Of course, Elsa." I made to leave once more, but she had something else on her mind.

"And Char, sweet, you are getting awfully thin. If you ever want to run a country you need to increase your health. Here," and she threw me two apples, "and I want to see them eaten before you leave."

I was far too anxious to walk leisurely amongst my nonjudgmental, unintelligent friends. "How about I eat three, but I eat them on the road. Please, Elsa, let me take them to go! I want to see the centaurs before the crowds come."

I did not have to obey her; she worked under me, technically. I was a prince! But I held a great respect for my elders that I carry with me even today. And I wouldn't put it past Elsa to throw a few spells my way. I always felt she held more power than even I knew.

My pleas worked for, after a moment of struggle, she consented, tossing me a third ripe red apple, and after hurried goodbyes to the entire kitchen staff and after a quick kiss on Elsa's cheek (to the disgust of Davy), I made haste to reach my destination before my morning was spent.

The menagerie was located right outside the palace walls, open to all people. I liked this place the most, because I was then able to mingle with regular citizens; rich, poor, young and old alike. They were all with me as we laughed at the stupid centaurs, marveled at the ferocious dragon, or shuddered in fear of the ogres.

I approached the unicorns first. Caged in an open area with much room to prance and rest or whatever unicorns take to doing, they are a rather solitary beings and prefer alone time to group settings.

I walked around the cage looking from one to the next, watching their pleasant gate and calm repose. One in particular had gleaming yellow eyes that met mine; I found that a sort of melancholy awareness resounded amongst them. Occasionally one would playfully nuzzle another or else hop about his caged environment, but the majority of their time they spent standing and staring straight through the bars as if the cage did not exist. A layer of inattention would cover their yellow eyes, and it would take minutes if not hours to wake them from their reverie.

_What do they think is out there? I'm sure they want freedom, but they don't know how good they have here. _I was inching ever closer to the cage in an equally mesmerized trance.

_I mean, they are given food and shelter and friendship. _Step forward_. And there is little required of them. _Step forward_. They won't ever have to make big decisions. _Reach hands toward cage_. They won't have to run an entire country. _Stroke gate to make sure it was, indeed, tangible_. They need to look pretty. _Mouth gapes_. And relax. _Eyes widen_. And love without fear._

I was frowning. _Love without fear. _What was I fearful of? I, who could have anything my heart desired. I still feared… Maybe rejection? _Who would reject a prince_ (not to sound the least pretentious)? It is common knowledge that to reject a prince is, firstly, bad luck and, secondly, a disservice to one's nation.

My head was swimming in images I thought I saw from the future: _I am the newly appointed king, riding amongst my men, never in one place for too long, focused solely on the next hunt. I am a ripe king, seated upon a thrown of jewels with nothing and no one but my crown to keep me company. I am a dying king with just my advisors at my side._

I physically shook my head in hopes that by doing so, I would change my future state of loneliness. _Surely that can't be me. I do have people that love me. My parents, though I don't see them often. My siblings. The servants don't mind me. And Elsa. I am sure that Elsa loves me through and through._

I stepped back from the unicorns, not wanting the thoughts their blank stares had left me. I smiled; in my head I spoke words I wish I could say aloud to them. _Don't worry. You are safe. You will be loved. Don't look for it. Just let it be._

I bowed deeply to them. My respect for the species that seemed to fascinate girls beneath the age of seven had increased sufficiently. We were not so much different.

I turned my back to them, and made to walk away. As I lifted my head toward the next exhibit of centaurs, my heart skipped a beat.

Her legs were crossed, one over the other, as she read the sign to the centaur area. Her left arm was stretched across her body as her right twiddled with a piece of her sandy brown hair. Her eyes were focused on the reading; she was frowning, as if she had read it before, but still did not like what it said. _Of course she doesn't. The signs always read harshly about the exotic animals or creatures or species. Prejudice is everywhere, unfortunately.. _

As I edged my way passed the dragon and towards the maiden, I noticed she was attempting to coax the centaur with a piece of cheese she had purchased at a cart nearby. I smiled and decided to speak.

"Here." I held out one of the apples Elsa had forced me to take. Very convenient, as centaurs eat mainly apples, rarely cheese. My voice startled her slightly, but her eyes relaxed as they met mine. She smiled, and thanked me for the piece of fruit.

She came closer to the moat surrounding the exhibit. Her figure was slight compared to the enormous gate that casted shadows upon every guest. The centaur she had originally attempted to feed came closer and jumped as she tossed the apple in the air. We could hear him chomping for the following minutes.

With a successful feeding, Ella's shoulders relaxed and she turned back to me grinning from ear to ear.

She came beside me, and turned abruptly back to look at the centaurs. "I always expect them to thank me or to say, 'How dare you stare?'"

"They're not smart enough to talk. See how blank their eyes are." She didn't know about centaurs? I thought for sure she would be well equipped to battle my knowledge against hers, not that it was a competition.

"If they had words they wouldn't be able to think of anything to say." She might not know as much about centaurs as I did, but her wit surely far outweighed mine. Her humor she must have inherited from her mother. As she spoke these words, I saw Lady Eleanor smiling through the wittiness of her lovely daughter. I couldn't help but laugh out loud. "That's funny! You're funny. As Lady Eleanor was." _Did I just say that? Oh dear God, allow me to eat my foot in order to take back this last bit._

I turned back to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to remind you." She looked at me with sad eyes and turned suddenly to hide them. "I think of her often," was her only response.

Silence ensued. As we walked along the moat, our arms brushed slightly. A tremble was released through my body, and I touched the place on my arm where it had met hers I ignored it, sure it wouldn't happen again. I was happy, however, that we walked closer than we did in the graveyard.

The bulging apples felt heavy in my pockets. "Would you like an apple too?"

At this, Ella stopped mid-walk, reached toward the ground bending her knees, and scratched at the dirt road in a perfect imitation of a centaur or else any wild and ferocious beast in Kyrria. She shook her head; her hair appeared as a mane of fur. She finally looked up at me with the widest eyes I had ever beheld; I only saw seas of green, determination, resilience, and strength, all of which left me comforted as well as comfortable with her. She did not look stupid like the centaur. She was beautiful.

And, again, I couldn't help but laugh_. What kind of girl is this! Who in their right mind would pretend to be a centaur before a prince? Unbelievable. Amazing._ I had been staring at her, open mouthed in admiration. I hope she didn't notice how she had enchanted me so. I couldn't help but tell her how I felt.

"I like you. I'm quite taken with you." I had never been so brash and honest with a person, let alone a girl I hardly knew. _Though I feel like I know her._

I then came to realize my words; I stuffed an apple in my mouth to keep myself from speaking out of turn. _Char! _I wanted to kick myself_. You can't just tell a girl that. Improper. What would Terin think of you?_ (Terin was my etiquette coach as a child; she would forbid honesty and encourage coyness.) I laughed at this thought. We went on in silence; she had responded to my outbreak of honesty with only a smile.

I was recognized often by the people there to see the animals. A few were so bold as to comment on their "complete faith in my family. God bless you, Prince Charmont." (I hated that name: Charmont. I wish that I could give my name as "Char" as easily as Ella could denounce "Eleanor.")

I was sure to give the customary Kyrrian royal bow, which had become but second nature. I was polite, as always, but I focused the majority of my attention on Ella. She was unusual and unique and completely interesting.

We proceeded naturally to the parrot cages. I had never much cared for these birds that spoke languages I could not even comprehend. But Ella was completely enthralled; she was a regular, and, it seemed to me, had learned languages by imitating the birds! _She never ceases to amaze me._

To be honest, I cannot, for the life of me, recall exactly what she said and how the birds replied or what exactly she imitated and how I reacted. Though I was always talented at school and memorizing material, I never took to languages; and when I tried, my accent was atrocious, though I never failed to point out this weakness.

"If they heard me, the elves would never let me stand under a tree again."

"The gnomes would hit you over the head with a shovel."

"Would the ogres decide I was unworthy of consumption?"

She grinned widely, approached me with a nimble dexterity that took me off guard, and tilted her head within inches of mine. "Most certainly." She had whispered it so that I could barely hear. I felt her breath on my ear, and her hair smelt of lilac. Her eyes met mine, still inches away, and they twinkled. Finally, she realized our close proximity wherein she wrinkled her nose and turned her head forward. We continued marching steadily toward the cages that held the ogres.

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I know this chapter is short, but I decided to post this before I continued with their time at the menagerie, because honestly I'm not sure when I'm going to get to write next.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! It is one of the best feelings in the world to get a review in one's inbox, so please keep them coming, good or bad.

Until next time, happy ogre-hunting!


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